The Accountant

By Nigel Grundey

The numbers are everything.

1943. A young man with a gift for figures is given the appropriate further eduction; coutesy of his guardian. Joining the family 'enterprise' to control its finances, he became enthralled  by the dangers and excitement this brings.

Events in World War Two shatter this world, their repercussions having him join two kindred spirits in the French Foreign Legion. This trio are tested to the limits of survival in Africa and Indochina; until an unexpected defeat changes everything.

Escape to Thailand initiates a turnaround in life; running financial affairs as only he knws how.

For beneath the company's manufacturing respectabiity lies a shadowy world of illicit trade, controlled by summary justice. This extremely lucrative, though letally dangerous business makes few friends, while making an ever growing number of enemies.

There have been many attemts on his life, but will one finally eliminate the elusive figure, known to all as 'The Accountant'?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nigel Grundey
• Release date: Feb 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386468851

Nigel Grundey

Nigel Grundey was born in Warwickshire England, but brought up in Kent. He first qualified as a Mechanical Engineer; however at age twenty-one, he joined H.M.Forces, serving in the Far East and West Germany as an Aircraft Engineer. Unsure of what to do next, a stint in college followed, furthering his qualifications.  "You do realise there's a war going on out there." is not the normal opening line of a job inerview,but it led to nearly thirty years service with the same company in the Middle East and the U.K. Always a voracious reader, he didn't consider writing until retirement, and is delghted that many of his stories have now been published. Never fans of cold weather, he and his wife now live in Southern Spain.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Having had many aliases in my life, the truth can now be revealed for those interested in such details. My real name is, Jean-Claude Beauvais. I was born in May, nineteen-twenty-one, at a small village surrounded by the beautiful countryside of the Bourgogne region of France. The name is irrelevant, as my memories of it are few, and none particularly pleasant.

I have been told my mother, Justine, a tiny and mentally frail woman, had a difficult time at the birth, being confined to bed for weeks afterwards. My father, Andre, played no part in this, because as usual, he was out drinking most of the time.

Years before, it was not like this, for believe it or not, my parents had been childhood sweethearts. These two were saving everything they could for their impending marriage. Being poor farmers, this was a struggle for both families, and it came to an end one fateful day in nineteen-fourteen.

The Imperial German armies invaded Belgium and France, starting what became known as 'The Great War'. Ever eager to impress, my father and his lifelong friend, Antione, joined the millions of young men fighting for one cause or another; by enlisting in the French Army. With good wishes and fond farewells, these two marched off in their fancy uniforms for Verdun.

Their return came after four, long and terrible years; though these now dour men, dressed in equally drab uniforms, were in no mood to celebrate any supposed victory. By some miracle, father was unscathed physically, though poor Antoine had lost an arm during the last German advance.

However, mentally, both were terminally scarred by their experiences, having seen and done things no right minded human being should be subjected to. For the rest of their short lives, they suffered damaging bouts of depression, continual nightmares and irrational feelings of guilt.

Yes, they were changed men, and unfortunately, their world had been irrevocably altered too. Already decimated by the war, families in the village suffered further losses during the Spanish 'flu epidemic; compounding the misery brought on by mounting debts. Properties had been lost, sold on, or just deteriorated beyond repair; compelling some of the survivors to move away and find work elsewhere. My father’s earlier dreams for a prosperous future were smashed, for he was reduced to being a common labourer.

Despite all this, my parents decided to marry, and face this new and challenging world together. Things were settled for a while, but gradually cracks began to appear in their relationship; the arrival of a son, mother’s inbuilt frailty, no job security and the constant money worries all compounded to break father’s spirit. Already a heavy drinker, he now joined the virtually unemployable Antoine on the downward spiral to alcoholism.

This addiction and the ensuing privations hastened mother’s mental disintegration; which brought Uncle Bernard into my life. Trying to reason with my father brought no result; so he concentrated on helping his sister, my mother. His generosity during this time ensured there was food on the table, and the bills were paid.

A Paris to Lyon express train ended this first chapter of my life. After a particular drunken episode, Antoine and father decided to walk home along a main railway line, an exercise which ended with fatal results.

Mother’s condition worsened from then on, culminating in her committal in nineteen-twenty-seven, after which I went to live with Uncle Bernard and Aunt Yvette.

It was they who told me of those years, for my only memories are of hiding from mother, when her rages and screams had me in uncomprehending terror. I have no memory of my father.

CHAPTER TWO

Bernard and Yvette, as they insisted I call them, welcomed me into their home unreservedly; taking in a timid and frightened soul. Before, I hid from everyone; alone, living in my imaginary world of magical places and exotic peoples. So real was this dreamland, that an ambition to achieve great things in my life was born, and remained with me. I leave others to judge whether or not this goal was achieved.

However, thanks to my guardians, they soon had a more normal, boisterous young lad on their hands; with all vestiges of imaginary worlds discarded and forgotten. Sadly, there are no photographs from that time, but I have vivid memories of our first few months together.

My uncle was a short, stocky man who faced the world with a ready smile, the twinkling brown eyes complementing his swarthy complexion. Invariably, the unruly dark hair was contained beneath a black beret, while his normal ensemble consisted of one red neckerchief, a spotlessly clean white shirt, while a wide leather belt held up the mandatory corduroy trousers. The finishing touch was the highly polished boots, for every day, he never wore anything else. Hardly fashionable, but an appearance which many ladies agreed, gave him a certain roguish charm.

In contrast, my tall, fair haired aunt was altogether a more elegant person, the pretty face and big blue eyes complimenting her womanly curves; which were forever clothed to please her husband. The pale complexion needed little make up, while the coiffure mimicked every change in fashion, even if shoulder length styles suited her best. No matter, she was, and remains, the most remarkable lady in the world to me.

Beauty and the beast, as was mentioned to me more than once; but having learnt the art of compromise, their marriage was solid and they enjoyed life.

My new home may have been a farmhouse, but all that remained of the land were two small fields next to it; where chickens and a few pigs lived, to provide extra food when needed. The yard and two barns were far more important to Bernard, for they provided shelter for his faithful Berliet lorry, plus a mass of crates and boxes which constituted his business.

My aunt and uncle were exciting and fun to be with, but when my school friends joined me, the countryside and woods became our playground, a source of many happy times. Weekends and holidays were one long, complicated game, played out until Yvette called us to a meal. Better still, if Bernard was at home, and the weather warm, our meal would be eaten around a campfire in the woods. Afterwards, he would share his knowledge of the natural world which surrounded us, revealing the mysteries and secrets. Other times there was more serious talk of the past, the good and bad times, and his wartime exploits; though, as always, we sat quietly hanging on to every word.

"Always remain curious, mes enfants, urged Bernard, a man who had no time for the military, religion or politics. Everything you learn will help towards a better life, for you must strive to avoid the wars and upheavals which have beset my generation. So, whatever you want from life, work hard, never give up on your dream; but above all, take responsibility for your own actions."

Though not a model student, my efforts at school reflected the realisation that I had become their son in all but name, even when Yvette became unexpectedly pregnant.

The birth of my cousin Natalie should have been a time of celebration, but there were complications, and Yvette was rushed to hospital. There she had an operation, which happily was successful; though it meant she could have no more children. This ordeal cost a great deal of money, nearly emptying Bernard’s coffers; but, despite the financial convulsions of the world at that time, or perhaps because of them, his business was prospering. According to Bernard, we could still continue to live in reasonable comfort; though to me it represented positive opulence!

CHAPTER THREE

Being an annoying and inquisitive child, Bernard was pestered for a long time about the business, and his comings and goings. It baffled me, why he would sometimes disappear in the lorry for days on end; then at other times there would be weeks of daily deliveries. However, unlike all other parents I knew of, his days off were irregular and variable.

My eleventh birthday was a distant memory when the details of his strange occupation were unexpectedly revealed. Curiously, the subject came up when the two of us were walking through the woods, enjoying the change of colours September was bringing to the trees.

J-C, I consider you old enough to understand things now, began Bernard, breaking the tranquillity of our silent amble through the dappled sunlight. In a few short years, you will learn to appreciate one salient fact; everyone in this world yearns for material possessions. Most are willing to pay a reasonable price for them, and this has created a demand for many products; which, with the help of my associates, I can supply. Every one at a price no shop can compete with.

Bernard paused and looked at me, as if to divine my understanding, a smile spreading across his face as I nodded.

This makes for satisfied customers and hopefully, more orders, he continued. Plus I earn a little profit, the money we live on. It may sound very simple, but as with everything in this life, there are strict rules which govern this enterprise; without them it would be total chaos.

There was a pause as we sat enjoying the autumn sun, watching leaves spiralling down to the ground, joining what looked like a golden carpet.

You could say I am a supplier, Bernard mused, then looked earnestly at me. I like that J-C: yes, I am THE supplier!

This told me very little, but soon I joined him on trips away; journeys to far and wide, which brought excitement. We shuttled to and fro to various cities, collecting loads from warehouses; all of which were hidden down private roads, well away from anyone's view. These were vast caves of plenty, for there seemed no limit to what was available inside. All transactions were slick, for Bernard knew all the owners by name; our requirements being paid for on the spot, and loaded quickly.

This carried on until a long list of orders required delivery, when I found out that cheap wine, brandy and cigarettes were in constant demand. While household goods, plus some high value items, like the latest wireless sets; were a growing trend. However, the biggest demand was for fashionable clothes, shoes, lingerie and make up; all ordered by the ladies.

Bernard told me they were the most demanding of his customers, a fact proved to me when we began deliveries. Men would spirit away their goods without question, but the ladies spent time examining every article; so woe betide you if they found any faults!

When taking orders, Bernard showed how he could sweet talk the ladies; getting them to choose more than they should. Sometimes, he had requests which were unusual, others alarming and a few, downright impossible. Somehow, Bernard always managed to make his refusal palatable to the 'would be' customer. A necessary art, he constantly reminded me.

This enterprise was truly international in scale, and involved large amounts of money changing hands; but, who had what, and where, seemed to rely on people's memory. This was surprising for a business ruled by a code of conduct which was rigidly enforced. Any breach of this, was dealt with extreme violence, even death if the situation warranted it. Harsh indeed, but no one person was allowed to jeopardise this organisation.

CHAPTER FOUR

Aside from work and home, Bernard’s overriding passion was for motorcycling, something he had been introduced to by the Tommies, during the Great War.

He was never without a machine from then on, ending up with an expensive, imported Norton. Roaring around the lanes, he revelled in its power and speed, enjoying every precious moment of his rides.

At first, I was allowed on the pillion seat, so we could putter around the fields; then much to my delight, when tall enough to reach the footrests, we ventured out on to the roads together.

Freedom and excitement J-C, Bernard would shout as we roared off. Be warned though, these emotions are very addictive.

My abiding memory is of one particular summer evening's ride; when joining a long, straight, tree-lined road, Bernard opened the throttle wide in every gear. I clung on tight as the bike accelerated, tears torn from my cheeks as the Norton went ever faster, its booming exhaust taking on a harsh note. The machine bucked and swayed over the rough surface, its speed causing the road to appear ever narrower, trees hemming us in along the thin black strip. The speckled sunlight changed to a multi-coloured blur, a tunnel of mad images drawing us ever onwards to the corners, where we flicked over from side to side, the tyres scrabbling for grip as the machine curved round. We tore on, never slowing, exploding out into the dazzling brightness of the countryside, racing past fields too fast to count any telegraph poles.

Can we go back home the same way? was my plea to Bernard, when it was time to return.

Okay, mount up and we'll go, came his smiling reply, for he knew I was already hooked on this mode of transport. The engine was revved with impatience, prompting me to jump back onto the pillion seat; then we roared off. Our arrival back at the farmhouse had me still shaking with fright and elation. Oh yes! I could never have enough of this!

CHAPTER FIVE

When the time came for me to have a machine, Bernard bought a Terrot; this shiny black, modern motorcycle soon becoming my pride and joy.

You are a natural, he shouted encouragingly, after the first few lessons to develop my riding skills were complete. Perhaps the time has come to take you out on the road.

There followed an enjoyable, but sometimes painful process of instruction; learning that falling of a machine on grass, is much preferable to doing the same on unyielding tarmac!

Finally let loose to go my own way, and accompanied by like-minded friends, we roared around the countryside feeling wild and free. Needless to say, being young and foolish, our machines were pushed to their limits; sometimes way beyond this, ending with the inevitable crashes. Luckily, we all escaped serious injury, our bruises and scrapes being accepted, for the madcap rides continued with everyone trying, as always, to emulate the fabled racers of the day.

Ye gods boy, stop! demanded Bernard, on seeing my ham-fisted efforts at maintenance. Please remember; someone has gone to great lengths to design, and manufacture those components, ensuring your machine can function correctly. Treat them all with respect when carrying out any maintenance.

This reprimand led him to teach me all about tools, and their correct usage. Lessons well remembered, as, from then on, no one was allowed to touch a vehicle I was to ride, or drive.

Yvette presented me with an aviator’s helmet, goggles and my most treasured possession, a homemade silk scarf. So, along with my purchase of some real leather gauntlets, I imagined this ensemble had me join the ranks of my heroes; the intrepid pilots and fearless racers of the age!

One fondly remembered episode of this time began when our gang found a well-surfaced road. This snaked sinuously over some hills, so inviting to us, it was no surprise a race began.

One of my more foolhardy friends, called Gilbert, owned a fast, but not very reliable, two stroke machine. Because of this problem, he had never won a race, but this just increased his resolve to succeed. So, could today be the day?

During the first stages, he made his way to third position, indulging in some on the limit cornering and overtaking, which took all his size and strength to control the machine. A downhill stretch meant his machine's superior speed allowed him to catch those in front, more lurid antics enabling him to stay with them around the corners. I swear the machine was totally out of control for most of this time. The following straight was long, and Gilbert managed to take the lead as we approached the next corner, only to find the brakes had exhausted their capabilities when he tried to slow. Leant over to the limit, his machine bucked and slid into the kerb, showering those of us behind with earth and stones.

Undeterred, he exited the corner in true speedway fashion, then it was head down and full throttle. A lorry coming in the opposite direction had to take avoiding action, when several motorcycles veered over into its path while in pursuit of him, the driver shaking his fist as they passed. Gilbert was unconcerned by this, for he was still leading; but, approaching the next corner, the familiar blue exhaust smoke ceased as the engine seized. A second later, his machine's rear wheel whipped violently to the right. Our friend was catapulted up into the air, his machine careering off the road in showers of sparks; as the rest of us skittered past trying to slow down.

When we returned to the scene, Gilbert was sitting at the side of the road nursing a broken arm. His machine had come to rest some distance away, where its damaged gearbox leaked oil onto the bushes.

We picked Gilbert up, transported him to the local doctor; to ride home, only slightly subdued. Happy days!

CHAPTER SIX

I never really liked school, but somehow managed to excel at mathematics, languages and geography. This was enough to scrape through the matriculation exam, whereupon I escaped out into the big, wide world.

Unsurprisingly, my freedom was short lived, for Bernard had plans for me. Bundled off by train to Marseille would be the first part; to work for, and learn from one of the many business associates.

It was a hard and sometimes dangerous introduction to working life, but stood me in good stead later, for I had an excellent teacher. Back then, his organisation virtually controlled the city's docks, plus those of Toulon, so very little of the export or import trade escaped his attention. Private conversations with this knowledgeable and powerful figure taught me more than he probably realised; a bit of flattery will get you anywhere!

Paradoxically, his son is now an elderly and respected, ex-high official of the city, whose periods in office have greatly benefitted the population. In contrast, the previous family empire was ruled by fear, for it was quickly noted my teacher's word was law; any deviations from them prompting the arrival of Corsican enforcers.

These men were feared, because their mere presence exuded an air of menace. Their methods were extreme and painful, though considered normal on their impoverished island, where these skills were honed.

Mind you, certain areas of Marseille were little better; rabbit warrens of filthy tenements, where the massed unfortunates eked out their wretched lives. High unemployment meant grinding poverty for most, with